Second Chance - Aftermath
by ChestnutBrumby
Summary: Abbie discovers the Horseman has left his mark on Ichabod. Set after episode 8 'Necromancer'. Early Abbie x Ichabod, likely the first in several fics based around this pair.
1. Wounded soldier

**A/N It was only a matter of time, and not a great deal of that, before I succumbed to shipping these two. I've already got a heap of little ficlets and ideas scribbled in my notes for Abbie and Ichabod, so this could well progress further. Will likely deviate from canon with each new episode. Consider yourself warned, and proceed with caution.**

**This particular snippet is set after Episode 0.8 'Necromancer'.**

**...It was supposed to be SHORT, dammit.**

* * *

Ichabod Crane was not a man who had been raised to show his discomfort, and indeed he barely paid any heed to the pain at first. Realizing that his oldest enemy had once been his dearest companion, before the branding and the sorcery, had taken it's toll. Sitting with Abbie and her direct manner of not allowing him to wallow, of calling him out any time he tried to swing the blame back to himself, helped. Abbie was easy to be with, not only because she was his fellow witness, but because she was straightforward and honest.

Maybe it was more than he deserved.

Her offer to drive him home he accepted with an affirmative murmur, and they drove in silence. Abbie knew him well enough by now to know when to give him his space, and deep down Ichabod was afraid that if he did force himself into conversation with her sooner or later he'd glimpse disappointment in her eyes.

He hadn't handled tonight all that well, and he wasn't proud of himself now.

He had registered and dismissed the throbbing around his neck and the aching spot on the back of his head by the time they pulled up to the cabin, but his mind barely lingered for a moment as it returned to processing the capture and interrogation of the Horseman (Of _Abraham_, insisted his rationality, but it was still too difficult a name to give to their headless foe).

Abbie, however, had the sharp eye for detail of her profession, and it was she who first noticed. "Crane!" She exclaimed, reaching a hand towards him, eyes wide. He startled, drawn back to the current time and off beat at the concern in her voice. Then her fingertips grazed his neck and his concern grew for an altogether different reason.

"Your _neck_." Her fingertips rasped lightly over his beard, lifting his chin gently so she could see better in the low light from the car interior and the stars outside, dim now with the approaching dawn. Ichabod held himself completely still - he didn't even think he was breathing. Abbie leaned closer, gaze intense now as she took in the extent of the bruising she had spied around his neck.

"The Horseman did this to you? Why didn't you say anything!" There was the familiar scolding undertone in her voice that was so well-known to Ichabod.

"It was of little consequence at the time." He muttered feebly, unable to summon any great will to pull away from her touch. As if this evening wasn't already complicated enough, now his body - he refused to think heart - were betraying him for his _partner _of all people.

_You are still a married man, Ichabod Crane, and no matter how much you miss Katrina, you will not replace her with Abbie_, he reminded himself sternly. His marital status aside, the last thing Abbie needed right now was any indecent behavior from him. Particular when earlier he had insisted on finding a way to get Katrina back, despite the fact he had no idea how.

Abbie dropped her hand and was out of the car before he could blink. "In the cabin, I can't see properly out here." She ordered. Ichabod could understand the sentiment. He often had trouble seeing properly when Abbie was concerned.

She was _different_ from the woman of his time. She was plucky and stubborn and wry in ways that he didn't realize a woman could be, in ways that made him want to ask a thousand questions of her so that he might understand just a little better how her mind worked.

Of all the people in this strange present he had found himself, he was glad that he had her to face the future with.

"Crane!" Now she was impatient, and well she might since he was still sitting statue-like in the passenger seat. She stalked back to pull him out by the wrist, though with some gentleness. "You didn't hit your head, did you?"

"Well..." He had, but was trying to come up with an inventive and belivable lie. Abbie made an exasperated noise and towed him towards the cabin. "We had a whole conversation earlier after all this mess and you neglected to tell me you might be hurt?

"Lieutenant, I feel perfectly fine."

"Head injuries can have delayed reactions you know." She continued to grumble as if he had never spoken as she let him sit on the couch and released the arm of his coat. "I ought to take you straight to hospital."

"No!" Ichabod couldn't contain the alarm in his voice and without thinking his own fingers locked around Abbie's tiny wrist to stop her. "No hospitals." After his short stay in a mental institution and the plague incident, modern hospitals were not Ichabod's favourite place of this era. Abbie paused for a moment, evaluating his expression and sighing when she caved in to the pleading note in those blue eyes.

"Okay, but you have to let me take a look. First things first..."

She bustled about bringing supplies, better light, then getting the fire started. It was a few hours until dawn and still chilly, and the flame's heat was welcome. Ichabod knew he ought to protest Abbie arranging everything herself but the weariness of the night and the encroaching pain had caught up to him and so he sat and watched the trancelike flames crackling in the fireplace.

"Are you sure you're okay, Crane? You look a bit... glazed." She finished after searching for a term that he would both understand and take no offense to.

"I feel fine. If I appear 'glazed' it's more to be the emotional strain of the night rather than the physical." He muttered, as Abbie plopped down on the couch beside him, a little too close for his slightly frayed nerves to be comfortable. A moment later she was lifting his head to inspect his neck again, fingers light at first. "There's going to be a lot of bruising. How long did he have you by the neck?" She questioned, applying light pressure around his adam's apple as she probed to discover the extent of the damage. Ichabod winced slightly for a reason that had nothing to do with pain. "I don't rightly recall." Ichabod admitted unwillingly, averting his eyes. He was very, very aware of how close she was sitting next to him. He could feel the warmth from her body and the nudge of a knee up against his leg. He jumped a moment later as the warm pressure of Abbie's fingers upon his neck was replaced by something ice-cold from the supplies she had beside her. "Sorry. It'll help stop the bruising colouring up too badly. Though I still think you're going to be black and blue tomorrow." Abbie patted the cold washcloth into place. "Keep your head tilted up."

Ichabod only had a second to relax when she got up from the couch and he could gather his wits about him. The next thing he knew she was standing behind him, fingers in his hair. "Where does it hurt?" Her voice had lost all of the scolding tone now. Ichabod swallowed. "Towards the back, on the left." He briefly tapped the throbbing area of his skull that already threatened a hell of a headache, and he felt rather than saw Abbie nod behind him. "Hold on."

She unwound the leather tie that kept the majority of his hair out of his face and gently combed it to one side with her fingers. Ichabod forced himself to let out his breath normally. Abbie was close enough to spot any momentary lapse in his body language, and he would not bring up, tonight of all nights the way he responded to her.

_It is naught more than loneliness, a mere physical reaction_, he swore to himself, but he didn't have the heart to believe his own lie. Yes, he missed Katrina greatly, but this wasn't just projecting the feelings he had for his wife onto the next closest thing he had in this era. Abbie wasn't Katrina.

It was so hard to concentrate on anything except how wonderful it felt to have her hands in his hair.

"Yep. You've got a bump." Her deft fingers checked over the impact of his head on the ground where the Horseman had thrown him against the cement, then she nodded to herself. To the tiniest bit of disappointment, she dropped her hands and came back to sit by him, not quite so close this time now there was no need to examine him. "You were lucid enough earlier, so I'm not going to drag your ass to the hospital. But I am staying here tonight."

He couldn't figure out what to say but there must have been alarm in his expression because she waved a hand dismissively. "Don't start all the high-handed chivalry and decency speeches, Crane. I'm sleeping on the couch and waking you up every second hour to make sure you're conscious, and so help you if I have to call an ambulance for you, so you _better_ be fine."

He managed a meek nod. There was no arguing with her in this mood. He did have to protest one point. "Lieutenant, I couldn't possible allow you to sleep on the couch when there was a perfectly good bed in the sleeping chambers-"

She held up a hand to cut him off again. "No way does all six feet of you fit on this couch, and besides, you're the one with a head injury and the imprint of a headless horseman's fingerprints around your neck. Get into that bedroom and get your first two hour's sleep. I'm already timing." She pointed for emphasis at the bedroom then tapped her watch.

Another battle he wasn't likely to win.

"Very well." He muttered unwillingly as he rose to his feet, handing her back the cold washcloth. Though he was more than ready for bed Ichabod couldn't resist annoying Abbie just a tiny bit, and he leaned in towards her, blocking her way towards the kitchen with an arm braced on the wall.

"By the way, Miss Mills? I'm six foot _one_." He managed with a small, smug smile.


	2. Early Hours

**Later the same night... **

* * *

Abbie touched the screen of her phone and brought a low light up as she stepped into the cabin's bedroom. A sigh came from Ichabod where he lay on the bed, one arm folded under his head, and his blue eyes inched opened unwillingly. "My name is Ichabod Bennet Crane, it's obscenely early on a Friday morning in the year 2013, _which _I might add is several dozen decades past my birth year, and I've no sign whatsoever of concussion." He recited huffily, his tone making Abbie smile. "Alright, you're okay. Go back to sleep." The phone went black, casting the room into the same lack of light. Abbie had turned for the door when Ichabod's voice came out of the darkness.

"Miss Mills?"

"Hmm?"

"I am grateful."

"Ha, me too, Crane. Hauling your grumpy ass to the hospital is not high on my to-do list, I can tell you. So it's no problem, really."

"I can assure you that my posterior is no more or less irritable than any other portion of my anatomy."

_He would take that literally_, Abbie thought, glad of the darkness to hide her smirk. The thought of Ichabod's rear end was a little too much for this early in the morning, and Abbie hastily pushed those thoughts aside.

"Never mind. But in all seriousness Crane, you have to tell me when stuff like this happens." Without really thinking about it, Abbie found herself moving back to sit on the edge of his bed, hearing the nervous shift of his body weight as she did so, moving into a sitting position. She reached out to brush his arm, her fingers lingering on his skin mere seconds, reassuring him. "We're partners, remember."

_Yes, he remembered_, Ichabod thought, swallowing nervously. No surprise for him, since he remembered everything, but just the same he had an all new level of recall where Abbie Mills was concerned. He remembered the first time she'd used that word in relation to him with perfect clarity. it had been at the car-yard, when they'd searched for the Mohawk Shaman during the Ro'kenhronteys battle. Abbie had introduced him as her partner.

A tiny part of his heart, perhaps the part not caught up in mourning for or yearning after Katrina, had leaped at being _her_ partner. Perhaps because the notion was so unexpected in accordance with his own 18th century values, but he had swiftly learned to overcome any discomfort in letting her guide him through in this new era.

_You only long to _belong _to Miss Mills because you've nowhere or no one else to belong to in this time_, Ichabod told himself.

"So you need to be honest with me. Please." Abbie finished. It was impossible not to agree. This gentle, concerned side of Abbie that Ichabod knew few others saw was much more difficult to refuse than Determined Abbie. It was impossible not to acknowledge that she made her request out of genuine concern for him. Difficult not to respond in kind.

His imagination, more vivid than it was in the daylight, ran away with him. Would she pull away he if settled an arm around her? What would her body feel like lined up with his, her head on his shoulder? He breath on his cheek?

_Get a hold of yourself, man_. "I do apologize, Miss Mills." In his head, he called her Abbie instead of the more formal title he usually employed, and in his head it sounded all the more intimate for the darkness. "It was not my intention to cause you undue worry."

Her hand found his - how did she do that in the dark? - and squeezed it gently. "I know you didn't. Remember, you're not on your own anymore, Crane. You can trust me."

It isn't you whom I do not trust. "I can only plead that my esteem in my own judgement is somewhat lacking in the wake of previous events."

"Mm, I can imagine. It's strange even for me to think about, all this time fighting the Horseman only for him to turn out to be an actual person that you knew... I can't say I can put myself in your shoes, Crane. But, I _do_ know what it's like to live with regret, and blame. My only advice is not to hold onto it for as long as I did. And... don't go through it on your own like I tried to."

For a long while they didn't speak, though the silence was comfortable, if tinged with sadness. They both had things they would have done differently, now.

"Next time, I will endeavor to communicate more effectively." Abbie almost laughed at that one. Ichabod Crane being any more effectively communicative than he already was... that would be a feat and a half.

"Next time, I'm not leaving you alone to be lured into reach of our mortal enemies." She snorted. "When are you going to learn to listen to me, anyway Crane? I told you back there not to loose your cool."

"What makes you imagine that I did?"

"Getting into swordfights with headless horsemen counts as losing your cool." Abbie pointed out.

"Hmm. A pity there were no crossbows close at hand. Maybe we shall have to rectify that next time." Abbie groaned at that. "_No crossbows_!"

His soft chuckle was soothing to her ears. He shifted slightly, and Abbie felt his leg brush her thigh. She stood up a little abruptly.

"I'll let you get back to sleep." It was sinking in how long she'd spent sitting on the edge of his bed. She'd probably been making him uncomfortable. _He's married, remember_. _And his wife could be making a comeback sometime soon._ Not anything that she wanted to think about, here in the night with the one person she had come to rely on so swiftly, and so totally.

The thought of loosing him now to his wife was a selfishly horrible thought.

He cleared his throat, taking a moment too long to speak. _Yep, he's uncomfortable_.

"I appreciate your checking in on me." Maybe it was the fact she couldn't see his annoyingly handsome face, but his voice sounded softer than usual.

"No problem." Her footsteps retreated from the room. Ichabod stayed sitting up in bed for a long moment, then dropped his head onto his arms.

He didn't feel in the least sleepy anymore.

* * *

**A/N -** **You guys win! Got such a great response in just one day that I couldn't help but continue this, and who could resist a little late-night bedroom chat?  
For those new to my writing, if you want to read more, there is no motivation better than simply letting me know with a review :) Every review now matter how long or short is deeply appreciated and the best fuel to the fire for me to write on.  
Couldn't resist giving Ichabod a middle name- we know Abbie's, and I'll be highly interested if we do hear Ichabod's in canon.**


End file.
